


A place he'd hoped he would never see again.

by 630Kame (Kame630)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Swap, Crowley as aziraphale, Deemon in heaven, Demon, Fallen Angel, Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kame630/pseuds/630Kame
Summary: He was going back to a place he'd hoped he would never see again. Crowley never expected to set foot in heaven again.





	A place he'd hoped he would never see again.

**Author's Note:**

> A writing discord I'm a part of had a weekly challange. The prompt was to start with the sentence "He was going back to a place he'd hoped he would never see again."
> 
> Somehow this fic earned writer of the week, which is very flattering!

He was going back to a place he'd hoped he would never see again.

The thought hadn't occurred to him at first, too caught up in the excitement and fear of what was to come. Even as he was taken, in a body that wasn't his own, it didn't really sink in what he'd agreed to do. It was the only option after all. The only option where they might both walk out of their punishments with their lives.

But as Crowley was dragged, physically dragged, back to the place he tried to forget he'd ever been, it all came rushing back to him. The memories he'd tried so hard to suppress, the feelings, the sheer magnitude of what had happened in his past.

Heaven built you up, made you believe you were special, you were divine, perfection incarnate, because the messengers of god could be nothing less. They made you feel proud to be graced by god themselves within the confines in heaven. They accepted nothing less than perfect soldiers, beings who did their tasks and never questioned why.

That's all he had done. Asked one too many questions, doubted a couple of orders, dared to try and make peace with their enemies. That was enough for heaven. He wasn't perfection incarnate, so he'd had to make a choice. Keep fighting with the angels, be cast out, into the depths of hell for daring to have a curious mind. Or willingly walk into the embrace of the devil, let himself be tempted and persuaded by the demonic beings that he'd dared to consider acquaintances. 

Hell did not have an obsession with perfection, they encouraged curious minds and wicked thoughts. The rebellion of the fallen. The Angels who weren't good enough for the divine. In the end, Crowley didn't fall, he sauntered vaguely downwards, lulled by the promise of freedom from heavens too tight hold over him.

He had to force himself to remember that he wasn't the same person who had been cast out of this place. It might have been harder had he been in his own body. He needed to pretend, needed to distance himself from his own thoughts and feelings to keep up the charade. Right now he needed to think and act as the principality Aziraphale, not as the demon Crowley. A demon who currently felt his blood had been replaced with ice, the feeling of holy divinity wrapping around him, like a chokehold on his blackened soul.

Never before had he been so aware of the hellfire in his veins. The burning itch of his wings wanting to manifest themselves. Heaven was pure, and light, and holy, it was everything that he had been so long ago. And now it felt worse then burning in the boiling sulphur of damnation. His skin crawled and he couldn't get over the feeling of utter wrongness to be back in this place.

Nothing had changed in the millennia since his fall. Same pure white, empty and open space. It felt even more like a hospital, _or a mental institution_ , he thought bitterly. The kind of clinical emptiness that made you feel completely isolated. Emphasising how much he didn't belong there anymore.

Over six thousand years. 

That was how long it had been since he last stepped foot into heavens clean, clinical a. He had been a different person, young, soft, innocent, and easy to discard. It took everything in his power not to scream, or struggle, or even try to escape from the angelic ropes tying him to the chair. Because he needed to keep this charade up long enough to pull the wool over their eyes. It wasn't just his own life at stake here.


End file.
